IT seemed all done and dusted. All Prime Ministers play their cards very close to their chests - they have no option.

But every indication - including conversations with Tony Blair - was that if we won the 2001 election I would move from the Home Office to run John Prescott's sprawling Department of Environment, Transport and the Regions.

I was ready for the move too. I'd enjoyed my time as Home Secretary but it is a tough job and having survived for five years I was clear that my luck would simply run out if I stayed too long.

John Prescott was clear about a move too. So clear that on election day 2001 he called me whilst I was on the loudspeaker in Cedar Street, Blackburn.

We parked up. For half an hour we discussed what I'd find in his old department and how we might best conduct the handover.

Late on election night, when it was obvious that we were winning a second term, Downing Street told me that I needed to be in London by 11 the next morning.

Once the count was over the whole family hit the road, drove through the night and snatched a few hours' sleep.

I then got prepared - fresh shirt, pressed suit, clean shoes - waiting for the call. But 11am came and went.

So did noon, 1pm, 2pm. Nothing. I phoned one of Tony Blair's senior aides, to ask for some idea on timings.

"Sorry," came the reply "things have got a bit delayed. Don't call us, we'll call you".

I did phone back a couple of times, and then decided I might just as well go to Downing Street to wait. It might hasten the hour.

So I turned up uninvited around 5pm. Downing Street is normally a pretty welcoming environment with office doors open, groups of people gossiping in the corridors.

But politics is a rough trade. Ministers hold their positions at the "pleasure of the Crown" - in other words of the Prime Minister.

There are no employment rights, no notice period. You are in, or you are out. Just like that.

So on reshuffle day, as I experienced again yesterday, the atmosphere in No.10 is very different.

You are met at the door, escorted to a room, to await your fate in solitary confinement.

It's a little nerve-racking even if you think you will still have a job when you walk out of the front door.

But it's desperate for those who have been ear-marked for departure.

So I was put in one a side office just beyond the Cabinet Room.

A couple of staff popped in to ask whether I was "all right".

I thought perhaps they were trying to tell me something, and that the next time the door opened it would be to offer me a last cigarette and get me to sign my will.

Meanwhile I started running through my lines - about Environment, Transport and the Regions, of course - and mugged up on that section of the manifesto.

I was almost word perfect by the time I was finally invited into "the presence", around 6.30. "Oh hi, Jack," said a breezy Tony Blair.

"Sit down. Now I'm not giving you JP's John Prescott's job. I'm making you Foreign Secretary instead."

I let out a small expletive, and stared ahead in some astonishment.

"What's the matter?" said Tony. "Don't you want the job? It's not a bad one you know!"

"Yes, of course I'd like the job very much. Thank you. I'm very grateful."

"Great, lovely". "Just a little surprised" I added with the understatement of the year!